Wish Fulfillment
by madwriterontheloose
Summary: Oneshot/drabble. It's Rachel's birthday.


**Wish Fulfillment**

The room is almost pitch black, with only the soft glow of candles illuminating the faces surrounding the table. There is the flash of a camera, preserving the moment for eternity. To the side stand two men, an African American one and a Jewish one. The taller of the two holds a video camera, and both serendipitously wipe at their eyes, moved.

At the table, with the dim lighting, one can just make out the face of McKinley's glee star Rachel Berry. Her face's skin tone is vaguely yellowish under the light of the flame, but there's a rather noticeable flush and a wide smile threatens to split her face in two. It may simply be the candle's glow reflecting in her eyes, but are there tears lurking in those brown depths?

All around her are the grinning countenances of her fellow glee club members, her teammates. Her friends. A few years ago, a gathering like this would have been seen as a miracle by the petite brunette. Now, it's merely like a dream come true.

Quinn sits to her right, the once feared and detested blonde a close friend and confident. To her left sits Finn, who Rachel's proud to say she now trusts to chose his friends above all else; even his reputation. Puck is next, having reconciled with the other boy. He loudly disapproved of such a "lame" party-no beer? No Puck! But despite verbally protesting, Puck had given no indication of leaving. Then there was Tina and Artie, Mercedes and Kurt, Santana and Brittany, Mike and Matt. At best, these people had only apathy for her. At worst, they had been her enemies. Now, all of them are seated beside her, celebrating the day she was born.

The cake was plunked proudly on the table before them, seventeen candles smashed into it. They were positioned jokingly by Kurt into the shape of a star, and when alight the golden flames made her trademark complete. It was a group effort; glee club had barged into her home only hours previous and raided the Berry kitchen to make it. The cake was messy—they had gotten more of it on themselves and it was a mishmash of all sorts of ingredients like chocolate and strawberries and sprinkles and peanut butter. It reminded Rachel a bit of them, and it was a ton of fun to make. Her friends had gone wild with the frosting, scribbling little notes on the cake's surface; things like "You Rock!" and "ILU" and "You're cooler than ducks, Rachel." There was only a small amount of space for a cramped "Happy Birthday," but Rachel didn't mind. In fact, the brunette felt it would almost be a shame to eat it.

As her fathers capture every second on video, the club launches into an improvised rendition of Happy Birthday. Instead of singing it boisterously, the dark and the glow of the candles fill everyone with a sense of awe and the song is sung softly; reverently. Of course, they still manage to goof off in their own way, adding riffs and harmonies to the simple melody. All too soon, the last note fades away and all is silent. They wait.

Rachel closes her eyes, savoring the moment, before slowly inhaling. The girl leans forwards, blowing gently over the cake. One by one, the candles are all snuffed out and the room spirals into darkness. There are chuckles; exclamations of "I can't see!" When Rachel opens her eyes, she can't tell the difference from having them closed.

"Well," a voice says from her right, sounding amused, "what did you wish for?" Rachel smiles, shaking her head. Belatedly, she realizes that they can't see the gesture.

"I can't tell you," she responds, also teasingly, "then it won't come true."

"Oh come on," even unable to see, Rachel can clearly picture pouting lips as the person beside her whines. "Tell me."

"Fine," Rachel's smile turns into a smirk, "but you can't tell anyone else, okay? Come closer so I can whisper it to you." She hears shuffling as the person complies, and Rachel reaches out blindly.

"Hey!" There's a giggle when her wandering hand hits something. Rachel stretches out her fingers carefully, mapping out a face. She finds a nose, which she tweaks playfully, and there's the flutter of eyelashes against her palm. Soft hair brushes the back of her hand.

"My ear is that way." A new hand comes into play, pushing the brunette's to the side. Rachel frowns, pushing back until they get the message and leave her alone. She continues her exploration unhindered, and finally finds what she's searching for.

As her friends laugh and joke, waiting someone to turn the lights back on, Rachel's ears catch a whisper in the darkness. All lightheartedness has faded, and they speak quietly and seriously. "Rachel, what are you doing?"

"You asked me what I wished for," Rachel responds, her smirk fading as she strains her eyes to make out the one she's talking to. Fingertips trace the swell of full lips. "And, as promised, I'm going to tell you." As unhurried as she was when it came time to blow out the candles, Rachel leans forwards. It feels vaguely as though she is leaning into the dark unknown, but she continues regardless, face first, because she doesn't care what may come next. This is what she wants, and it's her birthday. Maybe, she thinks a bit dramatically, it's fitting that she chooses go for it now, because sometimes she feels she was born just for this. Her hand falls to her side silently, unneeded. There's a tender brush of lips, an instant where they are breathing the same air and it is as though all the planets have aligned; a thousand hopes and dreams and wishes coming together for a single perfect moment.

Her parents finally manage to grope their way to the light switch and the room is bathed in the artificial glow. Rachel closes her eyes to the blinding light, afraid for a second that when she opens them it will have all been a dream and she'll awaken in her bed, getting up to another lonely birthday with just her and her dads. But no, she can hear sounds—catcalls and wolf whistles and high fives. Rachel can still feel the faintest touch of lips against her own.

The brunette gathers up all her courage and confidence and cracks her eyes open the tiniest bit. Her breath catches a little, because her world has been narrowed to two hazel eyes peeking straight back into her own—they are all see can see. When she can breathe again, the diva backs up, grinning.

"I don't believe in simply wishing for something to happen," she explains to the dumbfounded blonde, "I believe in fulfilling my own wishes."


End file.
